


Of Love and Loss

by Lazy8



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Tearjerker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazy8/pseuds/Lazy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various characters reflect on their losses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zuko: Thank You

His death was not tragic.

He'd gone peacefully, they said, in his sleep. All evidence was that he hadn't suffered much, if at all. He'd lived to a ripe old age, surrounded himself with friends, and raised a son he could be proud of. It was the way he'd have wanted to go—the way _anyone_ would have wanted to go.

That didn't change the fact that he was grieved by many, that his passing had left a hole in the lives of everyone who had known him. It didn't change the fact that the hardest thing Zuko had ever had to do in his life was explain to his daughter that Grandpa Iroh was gone, and that he wouldn't be coming back.

He'd held her for nearly an hour while she cried, shedding more than a few tears himself. When she'd finally calmed down, he'd handed her off to his wife, who'd taken her without a word but with a look of understanding.

After, he'd wandered the palace grounds, shrugging off all offers to accompany him; he needed to be alone. Eventually, without him consciously realizing where he was going, his feet had taken him straight to the turtleduck pond. There, he'd knelt in the shade of the tree where his mother had used to play with him, and set his gaze on two small carved stones.

These were a mere memorial. Iroh's body, as was his wish, had been burned in Ba Sing Se, the place where he'd lost his son. Zuko, however, had needed something here, in the capital: a small thing to remember him by, and mourn.

He stared at the stones for several minutes before he managed to find his voice, and in that space of time, he was no longer the Fire Lord, the all-powerful ruler of his country, but a confused and hurting exile once again.

Zuko took a deep breath. He turned to the older and more weathered of the two stones, and spoke.

"Well, Lu Ten," he began, his voice breaking, "it looks like you've won. But for what it's worth… thank you for letting me borrow your father. It meant… more than I can say."

A hot stream of liquid spilled from his good eye as he finished, cooling as it trickled down his cheek. During his time as Fire Lord, he'd made many speeches—some inspirational, some sad, all of them longer than this. None of them, however, had come straighter from his heart.

"Uncle…" He barely managed the single word before he choked up completely, and was forced to start over. There were so many things he wanted to say, but in the end, there was only one thing that he could.

"Thank you. For everything."

As he spoke, the strangest sensation came over him. A touch that was not a touch ghosted over his skin, as of a phantom hand gripping each of his shoulders—one young and strong, the other gentle and warm.

_We'll meet again._


	2. Suki: Full Moon

Sokka never wanted to do anything on the full moon—not even kiss.

That first time, Suki had thought… well, in all honesty, she hadn't been sure quite _what_ to think. That there was someone else, she'd deduced fairly quickly. That it was a painful memory for him was also obvious.

The Ember Island Players, of all people, had been the ones to enlighten her. At first, she'd dismissed it as yet more absurdity, another layer of ridiculousness in the already ridiculous play, and had turned to Sokka to make the appropriate jab. The look on his face, however, had informed her of her mistake.

As time passed and the war ended, their wartime fling had grown into something more lasting. Sokka grew increasingly at ease with kissing her and more, and she was glad that he had been able to move on, but Suki also knew that he had never forgotten her—the other girl whom she had never met.

Now, sitting alone outside, she stared up at the full moon and thought of a white-haired girl, of a white koi swimming in an endless circle for the rest of time.

"I know that Sokka meant a lot to you," she started, "and it's easy to see that he loved you just as much." She took a deep breath. "He means a lot to me as well." She stood, still looking up at the moon, wondering what this girl had been like and if, under different circumstances, they could have been friends.

"I'm sorry that things couldn't have been different for you," she continued quietly. "But I promise you, I'll take good care of him."

She offered a slight bow in the direction of the moon before turning away and going back inside.


	3. Hakoda: Be Strong

_You have to be strong for your children._

His mother had said that to him just as soon as she'd learned what had happened, and even through his grief Hakoda knew that she had been right. He tried to be strong. He had to.

For the most part, he'd succeeded. He'd been strong enough to catch Sokka before he could shove past him into the tent and see what Katara had seen. He'd managed not to shed tears as he explained to his son what had happened, even as he'd held his daughter close in a comforting embrace.

He'd been strong enough to leave his children in Bato's care while he removed his wife's singed and blackened body from their tent, strong enough to cover what burns he could and clean the ashes from the floor, strong enough to reposition her limbs so it looked like she was sleeping peacefully. He'd been strong enough to speak and not let his voice break as her body slowly sank beneath the water, to keep his hands from trembling as he wrapped an arm around each of his children's shoulders.

He'd even been strong enough to remove the necklace from Kya's cold body before they gave her back to the water, the necklace his mother had given her to wear on their wedding day and which she hadn't removed since. He'd known that Katara would need something by which to remember her mother.

Later, after the tribe had finished their mourning rituals, he'd been strong enough to return to the tent that was no longer home, to pack up his and his children's meager belongings and move them from his tent to his mother's. He'd been strong enough to wipe the tears from Sokka's eyes, to hold Katara close until she finally broke out of the stupor she'd been in all day and let her grief out in a series of racking sobs. He'd been strong enough to tuck his children into bed, to soothe Sokka with reassurances until he finally drifted off to sleep, to sit by Katara's side and stroke her brow until her nightmares had passed and her whimpering gave way at last to peaceful sleep.

After all that had passed, however, he wasn't too strong to fall into his mother's arms and weep just as thoroughly as Katara had wept in his.


	4. Aang: A Few Days

It had only been a few days.

A few days ago, he had overheard the monks' plans to separate him from Gyatso. A few days ago, he had run away on Appa, been caught up in a storm, and ended up frozen far beneath the waves.

Then, Katara had freed him from the ice, and told him that those few days had actually been a hundred years.

She'd tried to warn him. She really had. She'd also tried to protect him. Even as he'd shown them the courtyard and attempted a game of airball with Sokka, however, he'd known.

A few days ago, the temple had been lively with monks and children and sky bison and lemurs. A few days ago, Gyatso had been here, the real Gyatso, not just a statue.

When he saw the skeleton, however, surrounded by hundreds of other skeletons in Fire Nation armor, he could no longer pretend that it had only been a few days.

A hundred years ago, Monk Gyatso had been alive.

A few days ago, so had the carefree child who was now no more.


	5. Sokka: True Mastery

_He left you everything._

Hours after the fact, the words were still echoing in his mind, rattling around his skull like so many loose marbles. Holding a hand to either side of his head, Sokka sank down onto the front steps of the mansion— _his_ mansion now—and continued trying to process what had happened, something he had been doing ever since he had received the message bearing the seal of the White Lotus.

On the one hand, he reasoned that of course it would have worked out this way. Piandao had never married, never had children. He had had no family with whom he was on speaking terms—Sokka's hands still clenched into fists when he thought of it. Fat's death had preceded his by more than ten years. The last student he had taught before Sokka was Zuko, and there wouldn't have been much point in leaving material wealth to the most powerful man in the country. He had taken no students since.

All in all, it had been the most logical decision—but for once, logic was the last thing on Sokka's mind.

_Why did you do it, Master? What am I supposed to do with all of this?_

Letting out a sigh, Sokka heaved himself to his feet. All he was doing was chasing himself in circles. As long as he was trying to sort things out in his own head, he might as well take a look around.

The vast house was far too quiet. Of course, it had always been quiet—the master had liked his calligraphy and his landscape painting, his morning meditation and his evening tea, and most of the noise there was had been made by Sokka himself. He quickly realized, however, that it wasn't just the silence that was pressing down on his ears—it was the _emptiness_. There had always been a presence here while his master was in residence. Now, that presence was gone.

As he finished his tour of the house, Sokka felt no more enlightened than he had been before. If anything, the heavy weight of despair had begun to settle on his shoulders. How could he ever hope to have the presence to fill a space like this?

Reaching into his shirt, he carefully unrolled the last message his master had left for him, written in Piandao's precise calligraphy.

_'Remember, Sokka. Anyone can learn to wield a weapon, but true mastery is in the joy of seeing your students surpass you, and go on to reach heights that you could only dream of.'_

His tour had ended at the cold, silent forge, and he lowered the scroll of parchment to stare into the ashes. He had toiled here once, sweated as he shoveled coal and worked the bellows through the night, all of it to make his very first sword. It had started out as nothing more than a meteorite that had happened to land close to him—but in that unrefined hunk of space rock, Sokka had seen something special, and he had lovingly worked it into a sword unlike any other.

Again, he read the message. Carefully, he rolled the parchment back up, but did not put it away.

He smiled.

* * *

"Hey, Suki?"

"Hm?"

"Remember how you've been saying we should move to a bigger place now that the kids are older?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"And remember what you said about it being too cold around here in winter?"

"Mm-hm." Her eyes gave off a mischievous twinkle, and Sokka knew that he was on the right track.

"And do you remember telling me to find something to do with myself before I take someone's fingers off with my boomerang?" It was all about the timing.

She placed her hands on her hips. "Sokka, where are you going with this?"

"Well, I think that I have just the place—as long as you don't mind the occasional stray coming through for a lesson."

Sokka could never be the man his master had been—but then again, his master had never expected him to.

_I promise I'll make you proud._


	6. Kanna: Black Snow

Women in the Southern tribe were allowed to fight.

Even as she'd been carried into the village by the hunters who'd found her, unable even to stand from starvation and prolonged exposure, she'd been lucid enough to notice the lone waterbender practicing on the edge of the ice. A hand rose, and a wall of ice rose with it. A sweeping gesture produced a barrage of ice shrapnel that buried itself deep in the sides of the surrounding icebergs.

"Hama!" one of the hunters yelled as they came within earshot. "We've got someone who needs help!"

At his voice, the startled waterbender turned, streams of water cascading back downward at the motions of the hands…

_Her_ hands.

Even in her sorry condition, Kanna had not quite been able to keep the shock—and hope—from showing on her face. She had made it.

Hama had taken her into her own home, so that she could heal Kanna regularly while she recovered—women on this side of the world could both heal and fight. It turned out that Hama was as fascinated by her as she had been by Hama, and the two of them spent most of their free time exchanging tales of their respective tribes.

Kanna never tired of watching the other woman waterbend—her movements were fluid and graceful, yet she also carried with her a fierce determination to rival that of any of the men from the Northern tribe. Once, Kanna made the mistake of saying she wished she could see Hama fight for real.

The other woman stopped what she was doing so fast that the water she had been manipulating splashed down onto the ice, splattering them both, and she turned to Kanna with a fierce glare.

"You'd better hope you never do."

When Kanna saw the black snow, she understood.

Hama fought as hard as she could, backed by the men with their weapons. She even managed to take out one of the Fire Nation ships, trapping it permanently in the ice, but it didn't matter.

Kanna could only stand there and watch as the Fire Nation took the last waterbender away—and with her, their last hope.


	7. Azula: What If

She didn't need to ask what had happened.

Last night, she had overheard what Grandfather had ordered Father to do to her brother, and when Mother had questioned her, she hadn't bothered to hide her knowledge.

When she had woken up this morning, it was to find that Zuzu wasn't dead but Grandfather was, Mother was missing and Father would inherit the throne. Unlike her idiot brother, Azula didn't need to ask anyone for specific details. She was smart enough to put the pieces together.

Still, however, she couldn't help but wonder, somewhere in the back of her mind.

_Would she have done the same if it had been me?_


	8. Katara: Freedom Fighter

For the longest time, she'd only been able to hate him.

He'd charmed her, seduced her, plotted to harm innocents and tricked her into helping—and worst of all, she'd fallen for it. For the longest time, she hadn't been able to figure out who bore more of her anger—Jet, for the things that he'd done, or herself, for the things she should have seen and hadn't.

When they'd met again in Ba Sing Se, the anger had only flared anew. Katara was not going to let him sweet-talk her again, and she was not going to trust him. She was _not_.

Upon witnessing the effects of his brainwashing, however, she'd… hesitated. A Jet who had lost his memories of the war was a glimpse of the person Jet might have been if not for the destruction the Fire Nation had wrought. She had still not forgiven him, but she was beginning to understand, to acknowledge that at some point, forgiveness might be possible.

Before they'd been able to move toward forgiveness, however, Jet had fallen in the battle under Lake Laogai. She'd done what she could to help him, but those two words from Toph— _he's lying_ —had told her that everything that had gone between them before was all that there ever would be. Any chance Katara might have had for reconciliation, any chance Jet might have had to change in truth, had evaporated with his final lie.

After her confrontation with Yon Rha, she'd told Zuko she needed some time to herself and he'd granted it, going back to their campsite by himself to get the others. During that time she'd spent alone on the dock watching the sun rise and waiting for them to return, Katara had thought mostly about her mother, about the Southern Raiders, and about Yon Rha—but she'd also thought of Jet.

A monster, she'd called him. She'd meant what she'd said, and that conviction still held firm. Jet's actions had been monstrous. When she thought over the events of the past few nights, however, Katara couldn't help but see that Aang had been right, that so many of the things for which she'd hated him had come out in her own actions. To Jet, no number of casualties was too high a cost if it meant getting back at the Fire Nation… and Katara hadn't cared, either, who else she hurt if it meant getting back at Yon Rha. She had hurt her brother. She had hurt Aang. She had used bloodbending, a technique she had once sworn never to use again, on a soldier who had known nothing of Yon Rha's crimes.

She wrapped her arms around her shins as she drew her knees up to her chest. How was she any different from him? Was she becoming the very thing she had hated so much?

A low bellow from above her made her lift her head, and Katara saw the familiar form of Appa coming toward her out of the lightening sky. Taking a deep breath, she stood.

She didn't know whether, given time, Jet would have managed to redeem himself—but Katara still had time to pull away from the same destructive path that had led him to his death. It was time for her to let go of her anger, to stop blaming a whole nation for the actions of a few.

It was too late to know what might have happened with Jet—but there was someone else she was finally ready to forgive.


	9. Iroh: Leaves from the Vine

He hadn't loved her.

Oh, he'd enjoyed her company, certainly. He'd given her all the respect that was due a wife from her husband, and more. He'd taken pains to ensure that she'd never want for anything, even while he was away at war. And, when they'd first been introduced, he'd made sure that she was willing and that she wasn't looking to use him as a means to her own ends.

Love, however, had never entered into the equation.

He was the crown prince of the Fire Nation. As such, it was his duty to produce an heir, and his father had been disinclined—to put it delicately—to take his chances on such a nebulous thing as love. Oh, he had been allowed at least some say, and his father had smiled indulgently at his insistence on meeting every potential candidate the Fire Lord had picked out over a good, long cup of tea before he made his choice.

"I don't see why you feel the need to be so fussy, son. After all, a girl is a girl." Iroh had tactfully refrained from pointing out that his father had repeatedly combed over the entire country in his efforts to ascertain whether Avatar Roku had left behind any female descendants. "Still, if she comes from a good family and can give you an heir… well, I trust you will choose wisely. At the very least, it will give you practice in arranging your own children's betrothals."

He had chosen wisely. Love or no love, they had not been unhappy. Now that she was gone, he knew that he would miss her.

The announcement that she was pregnant had been a shock—a happy shock, but a shock nonetheless. He had done as his father wanted. So what was he supposed to do next?

Everything after that had happened so suddenly.

Now, he was sitting outside, barely able to comprehend the words as the midwife told him, hands shaking, that she was sorry, she was so, so sorry, they had done everything they could—but at least they had managed to save the child.

He listened with one ear and nodded numbly at the midwife's words on finding a wet nurse and a nanny for the child and which of the servants she thought were most suitable, but in truth his mind was somewhere else entirely. The life that he'd shared with his wife may have had nothing to do with love—but now, as he held his son in his arms, Iroh wondered whether he'd even understood the meaning of the word.

"If I may ask, Your Highness—what will you name him?"

Startled, Iroh raised his head. A question, and one that had actual meaning; he could not simply keep nodding.

"Lu Ten," he whispered, recalling the name that they had agreed on should the child be a boy. "His name will be Lu Ten."

"May Agni shine upon your days, Prince Lu Ten." She turned back to Iroh. "Shall I inform your father of the news?"

Again, he simply nodded. The midwife left with a brief bow to the pair, and Iroh was left alone with his sleeping son in his arms.

As her footsteps retreated from hearing range, Iroh recalled time he had once overheard his wife singing when she thought she was alone, sitting peacefully in the garden with a hand resting gently against her swollen belly. His son shifted restlessly in his arms, and without even thinking about it, Iroh raised his voice in the tune that he knew would have been a lullaby for the child, had she lived long enough to sing it to him:

" _Leaves from the vine,_

_Falling so slow,_

_Like fragile, tiny shells_

_Drifting in the foam_

_Little soldier boy_

_Comes marching home_

_Brave soldier boy_

_Comes marching home._ "


	10. Ozai: Opportunity

He couldn't say, for sure, just when it was he had started to hate Iroh.

All he knew was that, over the years, he had slowly come to realize that Destiny had constantly snubbed him, and yet seen fit to heap favor after favor upon his older brother. A mother who hadn't died rather than raising the child she had just given birth to. A wife who didn't lust after the heart of another. A firstborn who wasn't a shameful _weakling_. Worst of all, however, he had Father's approval, and he didn't even seem to _care_ that he had, with no effort at all, won the one thing that Ozai craved so badly.

If he thought about it, however—which he didn't do often, as he found the memory distasteful—it would have to have been the last time he had approached his father, at the age of eleven.

He couldn't even remember what he had asked for, now. All he remembered was the way Father had stared at him, unsmiling, eyes hard beneath his drawn brows, until he had quailed and shrank back, hoping against hope that the shadows would reach out and swallow him.

"Your brother," the man had said at last, each word clipped and cold as ice, "is the crown prince of the Fire Nation, a skilled bender, and a loyal son. Iroh is entitled to anything he desires. _You_ , on the other hand…" The pause dragged on, just long enough for Ozai to count up each and every one of his inadequacies. "You are nothing more than insurance, an unneeded spare not worth the pains it took to birth you, much less your mother's life. You would do well to remember that."

He had swept off before Ozai could even manage to stammer out an answer.

Now, as he read the letter that had been sent from the battlefield, Ozai couldn't quite suppress the smile that was tugging at his lips. For the first time in his life, his perfect older brother had failed. Not only that, but now that his obnoxious brat of a nephew was out of the way, Iroh's line was ended—permanently. Never again would his father be able to say that he was not needed—not when the next Fire Lord was left without an heir.

That is, assuming that Iroh took the throne at all.

He stood in thought for a moment as the idea came to him. It would be risky—any audience with his father always was—but maybe, just maybe, if he framed his request in terms of service to his country rather than his own desires…

Snapping his fingers, Ozai summoned his servants, one to carry the request to his father, the other to inform his wife and children of the meeting. It was regrettable that he would be unable to exclude Zuko from such a delicate endeavor, but both of his children would need to be there if he wanted to stress his point. The boy had better not embarrass him again.

Not even his failure of a son could tarnish his mood for long, however. Not on a day like today, when for once in his life everything seemed to be going his way.

_Now, brother_ , he thought as the servants dressed him in his best clothes, _it's time you had a taste of what you've put me through._


	11. Sozin: Rationalization

He'd had to do it.

Sozin wrinkled his nose in distaste as he removed his ash-coated outer robes. The action caused his already-creaky joints to ache painfully; he wasn't as young as he used to be.

No, that wasn't right. He wasn't young at all, not in any sense of the word.

Why couldn't he have just _listened_? Sozin had been willing to give him _everything_. He'd laid his kingdom at Roku's feet, yet his role as the Agni-blasted _Avatar_ was more important to him than his home, more important than his duty to his country…

…more important than Sozin.

In a sudden fit of rage, a blast of fire tore from his hand, incinerating the clothing he'd just removed to a blackened crisp. Just as suddenly, however, the fury died, and he found himself on the floor on his hands and knees.

"Why, Roku?" he whispered. "Why did you make me do it? Why…?"

The truth was, however, that he already knew why. He hadn't left his friend to the mercy of an uncaring volcano, and he hadn't lost Roku when he'd been buried under a blanket of hot ash and poisonous fumes.

No, he'd lost Roku much, much earlier, at the age of sixteen. He'd lost him to the Avatar.

That had been his mistake. He'd spent so much of his energy, wasted so much of his life, all of it for Roku, and Roku—no, the _Avatar_ —had repaid him with cold disdain. Well, he was through doing things for Roku. It was high time Sozin did something for himself.

He would start by making sure that the Avatar never plagued this world again.


	12. Gyatso: Never Apart

He was not going to be able to move on after this cycle, for he had done the unthinkable.

It didn't matter that he had been acting in self-defense. It didn't even matter that he had been defending others—elderly, children, those who could not fight back for themselves. He had still killed, and as such the only option left for him was reincarnation.

That was okay, though. Even if not for his murder of the invading soldiers, he still would not have been able to achieve true spiritual harmony. He had been unable to let go of his attachment.

Still, he could have chosen to reincarnate as a human being. Whatever he had done at the end of his life, he had done out of compassion rather than aggression, and as such his actions needn't condemn him to one of the lower life forms. Yet that was what he chose, because it was the only way for him to return to the site of his own unmarked grave.

There was still someone out there, someone he hadn't managed to protect—someone who had survived, and would someday return. Therefore, the spirit once known as Gyatso returned as well.

It did not happen in that lifetime, or the next, or the next after that. He could not—no, would not—be human, and therefore his lifespan remained untenably short. After the first cycle, he did not even remember why he had come back—yet he continued to return after every death, always to the same spot, because if there was only one thing that he remembered from all of his many lifetimes, it was that this place was important and that he could not leave it.

Then, what he was waiting for finally came to pass.

Voices and movements of a sort that he had not heard in a long time drew him into a large space, a space that hadn't been there before, to find that it had been invaded by a number of other creatures much bigger than him. Even as one gave chase, however, he heard the cry of another behind it—and somewhere, in the place of his mind buried underneath the animal instinct that screamed to _run fly away fast save yourself_ , he knew that here was what he had been waiting for.

Later, as he curled around slender shoulders and appeased the hungry one with something to eat other than him, he knew that they would never be apart again.

He had always known, better than anyone, that some friendships were so strong they could last across lifetimes.


	13. Asami: Selfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT for LoK Season 3. Most of the details are pretty vague, but there are major spoilers nonetheless.

He never left Korra's side.

He carried her aboard the airship himself, setting her gently down in the nearest available bed and pulling the covers over her, murmuring words of encouragement all the while. Asami didn't see the rest, as she was too busy prepping the ship for takeoff while Suyin sent a radio message to Republic City that Mako and Chief Beifong were returning with a dangerous criminal in custody and that the Avatar was in urgent need of medical attention. By the time she had reached cruising altitude and could afford a few minutes to run back to check on Korra, however, Tonraq was still there, holding her hand gently in both of his own.

Even after they reached the Republic City hospital he refused to leave his post outside the door of the room where the doctors were treating Korra, and only looked at Asami dully when she ventured the suggestion that he take a break and let her keep watch so he could have his own wounds tended. So she sat down beside him instead, not speaking, only watching and waiting as he was with her heart in her mouth, nearly jumping out of her seat whenever anyone entered or exited the room.

When someone finally came out to tell them that Korra was in intensive care but that she was expected to make a full recovery, Asami nearly collapsed in relief. Tonraq went in right away, but the doctors would not let Asami pass for any plea or threat, and so she did the only thing she could do and saw to it that a message was sent to the South Pole. By the time she was leaving because her usefulness had expired and only family were being allowed in to see Korra anyway, Senna was already rushing past her to join Korra's father by her side.

Korra was so lucky to have them. Korra was also hurt and scared, and she had been through a worse ordeal than Asami could even imagine, which was why Asami felt so selfish when she went home that night and cried into her pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the line it occurred to me that given her own family history, Asami might be more than a little envious of Korra's parents - never to the point of actually being bitter toward Korra, but she'd definitely have an awareness of what she's missing.


End file.
